Irish Moon by Amber Scott Page B

offer? Guilt pressed down on her as she
remembered Heremon’s strange behavior and her lack of action upon
seeing it.
    She forced the mouth open and put her nose
above it. She inhaled. The stink of death masked it somewhat, but
she identified the barely discernable scent of poison. She took
another whiff, ignoring the growing putridity and searched her mind
for what the third scent’s identity. Its sweetness was familiar,
like a comfort smell. Roses? Roses.
    “My lord, in truth, I had not seen Heremon
well since the week prior, our last tutelage together.” She did
turn around when she spoke, not yet ready to brazen further inquiry
or the guilt beneath her answers.
    “Explain yourself,” he said in a gruff
tone.
    Breanne faced Niall, certain of her
conclusions regarding both Heremon’s cause of death and what she
should reveal.
    “When I met with Heremon, he rescheduled our
lesson within moments of my arrival. He appeared more disheveled
than normal and out of sorts.” She took a steadying breath, aware
of her shaky voice. “I should have followed him then, rather than
returning at night. My lord,” she said and met his eyes. “He died
of poisoning.”
    Niall’s stern expression crumbled into one of
sad confusion. He shook his head over and over, opened his mouth
and closed it wordlessly. Breanne’s heart ached for him, for her
murdered teacher, for herself.
    His death was real now, material.
Incontrovertible. She couldn’t think of an appropriate consolation
and so, sat next to her chieftain, stepfather, in silence.
    * * * *
    The man passed, his attention on whatever his
companions had found. Ashlon used the opportunity to bury the
satchel and skin, adjust the coverings, and hug the cold cave floor
as close as his body would allow. He picked up bits of conversation
so long as he remained motionless and breathed shallowly.
    “He wasna stabbed, daft mule,” one said, a
smacking thud followed.
    “The king said anything odd, anything at all…
marks unusual,” another answered derisively. “What have you found,
you stinking old boar?”
    Thumps and tumbles. Then a clear, young voice
resonated. “Enough! You waste valuable time here… report… my
responsibility. If I left such an item in either of your
hands….”
    The voices left earshot and Ashlon tore his
head free of the smothering wool and fur. He sat up and breathed in
the cool air in deep gulps to calm his pounding pulse. They were
gone. He’d wait some time to be certain of it, but couldn’t deny
relief coursed through him. Five steps into this stone hole and
he’d be found.
    Friend or foe, he couldn’t know, but had
learned long ago to trust his instincts and when that man had
threatened his discovery, instinct said hide. They now said be
calm. In a short while, he would be free to leave this place. In
the meantime, the men where gone.
    Ashlon rested his head and closed his eyes.
Twenty or thirty minutes should do it, he estimated, but within ten
fell soundly back to sleep. The world outside blurred and dreams
stole his senses.
    * * * *
    “I ask for your word, Breanne, that no one,
not a single other living soul in the whole of the tuath, hear
those words.”
    Breanne nodded quickly, though confusion made
her frown. She heard the gravity in his tone, but she still wanted
to question such a decision. Heremon had been murdered. Had she not
made that clear? Would Niall not wish to find the killer of his
most esteemed and sage advisor?
    She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her
intention to the quick. “Not another soul, Breanne. Do you
understand?” His eyes glittered as he gritted each word out.
    She snapped her lips together, stepped back
and nodded again. “Yes, my lord. No one save you and I shall know
unless you wish it so.”
    He seemed satisfied. “It will be announced as
a tragedy, which I believe we can agree, it is.”
    She nodded and suppressed the swirl of ifs
and howevers in her brain. His decision must be trusted,